


Falling

by Guanin



Series: Antipodal Shadows [6]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey tells Jim what he saw at the hospital and Oswald finds himself in a delicate position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for the comments and kudos! They really keep me going.

“This is probably none of my business.”

Jim raised an eyebrow at Harvey, who looked like he really did not want to say what he was about to. Their shift over for the day, they had already grabbed their things and were on their way out the station door when Harvey had blurted out that sentence. The whole day, he had seemed a little jittery and Jim had caught him staring a few times while Jim texted on his phone. Jim understood that it was his first day back at work and that Harvey was concerned, although he appeared to have believed Jim when he said that he felt fine now and was fully capable of fulfilling his duties. His neck was a little stiff, but that was most of it. 

“That doesn’t bode well,” Jim said, pushing the front door open and stepping out into a chilly December night. He finished doing up his coat buttons and tucked his cashmere scarf firmly around his neck. “What is it?”

Harvey stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and hunched his shoulders, not quite looking at Jim. He steered them away from the door and closer to the building so people could pass them by.

“Just something I noticed” he said. “At the hospital when you were, well, you know. I’ve been debating with myself whether or not I should say anything. Again, it’s none of my business and I don’t know anything for sure. I’m just making an educated guess based on empirical evidence. Like we do.”

Jim frowned at him, growing more confused with every word that Harvey spoke.

“Okay,” he said. “Is it something about me?”

“Sort of. It affects you. Could affect you. Is likely affecting you right now. It’s about Cobblepot.”

“Cobblepot. Did he do something?”

“Not exactly. It’s the way he was looking at you when I met him to give him the intel and later when he brought the antidote.”

“How was he looking at me?”

“He was terrified. The kind of terrified you get when someone you love is about to die.”

Someone you love? 

“Jim, I think he’s in love with you.”

What?

“What?” 

“Again, I obviously cannot be 100% sure, but if this were a case, I would bet my badge on it. That man has seriously deep feelings for you.”

No. That wasn’t… What? Oswald was always so eager to please, sure, but… He had made Jim those pies. He’d placed a blanket over him when Jim needed to sleep. He was happy when Jim was pleased with him and downfallen when he wasn’t and he looked at Jim like their friendship was the most important thing in the world to him. That look, at the hospital, when Oswald had told him how scared he had been,

_“I never want to see you like that again.”_

Had that been love? 

“I gotta go,” Jim said weakly. 

On autopilot, he started walking toward his train station.

“Are you okay?” Harvey asked, following him. “I didn’t know if you knew or not. Obviously, you didn’t. I just thought, considering who Cobblepot is…”

“A murderer?” 

One that Jim was strangely okay with being friends with. 

“Yeah, that. I felt it might be a safety issue one day.”

The mob did go after loved ones first. When Oswald said that he liked Jim months ago, did he mean friendship like or was it already like like? Jim had assumed friendly like, admiration, respect, that kind of thing. Had that been flirting? It hadn’t felt like it. Had Oswald flirted with him since then? Harvey had called him a sycophant once, so it wasn’t only Jim that he fawned over. But what if it had been flirting? 

“You’re right,” Jim said, turning to Harvey for the first time since he had started walking when his path was interrupted by a stoplight. “I should know. I’ll find out if it is what you think it is.”

“Okay. I’m sorry to drop this on you like this.”

“That’s fine. No other way to do it, really.”

As soon as he crossed the street, Jim called Oswald.

“Hello.”

Oswald always sounded so happy to hear him. Was that evidence? Were friends always this happy to communicate with each other? 

“Hi. Are you free tonight? I need talk to you about something.”

Jim congratulated himself on sounding calm.

“I can get out of here in about an hour. What do you want to talk about?”

“Just… something that came up. Can we meet at my place?”

“Sure. Just give me an hour to finish up here.”

“Of course. There’s no rush. I’ll see you then.”

Back at his apartment, Jim spent the next hour obsessing about what the hell he was going to do if Oswald was, in fact, in love with him. Every interaction they had ever had was now suspect. The scarf, the hospital, the week recovering at his apartment. The meat pies had only been the start of it. Oswald had showed up the next day with lasagna that had tasted so heavenly that Jim had actually said, “I love you. This is amazing.” Oswald had grinned, pleased, and ducked his head in that cute way he always did. Jim hadn’t meant anything by it. It was just an exclamation, something you say when your friend brings you really tasty food. Which Oswald had done again the next day, steak this time. Jim hadn’t questioned it. Oswald did manage a restaurant, which, mob owned or not, did make delicious food and Jim enjoyed it. The food. Also, that Oswald brought it to him. 

Wait.

His ringtone made him jump. Oswald was calling.

“Hello,” he answered, palm sweaty on the cell phone.

“I’m downstairs,” Oswald said.

“I’ll buzz you up.”

“So what’s up?” Oswald asked when he arrived at the apartment.

Oh, crap. It was here. Time for the truth. Jim had gone through various scenarios in his head. Introducing the subject slowly. Examining the evidence in a circuitous way that revealed as little as possible until the last second. Blurting it out and getting it over with. So far, the only decision he had managed to come to was _don’t mention Harvey._ He did not want Oswald resenting Harvey for this. 

“I want to talk to you about something,” Jim said, keeping his hands firmly on his hips to prevent himself from revealing how nervous he was by running his hands through his hair. 

“You said on the phone.” Oswald’s smile faltered. “What is it?”

Jim forgot to breathe for a second, air stalled in his throat.

“Are you in love with me?”

Blurting it out it was, then.

Eyes widening, Oswald’s entire face froze in utter shock. And fear. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out for the longest time except for jittery breaths.

“Why are—“ he breathed more than said, voice trembling. “Why are you asking that?”

Jim’s hands slid off his hips, suddenly weak. Oh God, it was true.

“You are,” he said.

Oswald’s head shook.

“I’m n—I never—“

But he couldn’t deny it, not without lying. 

“Yes,” he said at last, eyes shutting as he nodded, head dipping low over his chest, as if he wished to shrink into himself. “Yes, I… I am.”

Oh, Christ. Jim took a step back, hardly aware that he did, needing to put some distance between Oswald and the doubts flapping in his brain, but the motion appeared to panic Oswald. 

“I never meant for you to know,” Oswald said. “Not if you didn’t… I never expected anything from you. Just being your friend, a proper friend, has already made me so happy. I don’t need more than that if you don’t want it and of course you don’t.”

“How long? For how long have you known that you… you…”

“Not long. I don’t think. It’s hard to know exactly when feelings like these evolve, of course. I’ve liked you, really liked you, for a while now. I guess I knew when I saw you at the hospital. When I thought I might lose you and I knew it would break me.”

Jim backed up onto the couch just before his legs gave out, head falling on his hands, squeezing his fingers through his hair as he struggled to make some sense, any sense, out of the morass of emotions strangling his mind, his heart a tight knot in his chest, each beat hammering an unexpected pain. Remorse gnawed in his throat at the thought of having to tell the friend that he had grown to value that he couldn’t return his feelings. Yet that was not the biggest emotion that was distressing his right now. It was fear. Terror of looking back at Oswald and seeing, truly seeing, the love that Oswald professed etched in every aspect of his face. In the brightness of his desperate eyes. In the tremor on his parted lips. In the way he wrung his hands together, his slim fingers seeming so fragile.

“I know what I am in your eyes, Jim. I know you would never consider someone like me as a romantic partner. I’m not asking for that. I ask nothing of you. Nothing between us has to change.”

“Everything has already changed.”

It took all of Jim’s strength to raise his eyes, to meet Oswald’s and not flinch at the pain he found there. And it took greater strength still not to stand up, pull Oswald into a hug and rock him against his body, assuring him that everything would be okay. 

Feeling as if someone had stabbed him with a dull blade, he remembered that day at the hospital when Oswald placed his hand on Jim’s wrist, their hands almost on top of each other, of the softness of Oswald’s skin, and how much it had pleased Jim to touch it. 

“You are the opposite of everything I stand for,” Jim said.

“Yet we are friends.”

Friends.

Jim rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. Had he not acknowledged this just last week? Did he not accept them to be so despite everything that Oswald was? But being friends was one thing. This… Even if breaking up with Barbara weren’t so recent, even if she wasn’t still firmly lodged in his heart, the wound fresh and pulsing still, he wouldn’t consider it. Surely he wouldn’t. Not with a gangster.

“We are friends,” Jim said. “But we can’t be anything else.”

“I know. I know we can’t. I'm not pressuring you into anything.”

 _Look at him_ , Jim told himself. _Just look up at him._

He did. He looked into Oswald’s pleading eyes and he wanted to kiss him. 

Oh God. 

“I need,” Jim said, shoving that desire way down to the bottom of his stomach. Where the hell had that come from? “I need time to think.”

“Of course. I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” 

Reluctantly, as if he were heading to his execution, Oswald walked to the door, his bad leg dragging heavily on the floor. Jim almost called him back, but he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t have allowed Oswald to begin any of this.

“Good night,” Oswald said, turning to him one last time, a fragile smile on his lips.

“Oswald,” Jim said before Oswald could leave. “I’m sorry.” 

The words barely made it past Jim’s clenched throat.

Oswald gave him a jerky nod. He left, the door closing on him.

````````  
Oswald almost ran down the hallway, out of the building, and into the alleyway to his car, the whole time his breath hitching, moisture pricking at his eyes. 

Jim wouldn’t be friends with him after this. Not with a gangster who loved him. Every card had already been stacked against Oswald. Every one. It was only Oswald’s insistence and Jim’s generous nature that had gotten them this far. Now Jim had the perfect excuse not to continue this misguided friendship with the neighborhood gangster. 

He fumbled his keys, dropping them into a puddle, the putrid water splashing his shoes. 

Fuck! 

Fuck fuck fuck. Grabbing the keys out of the water, he threw them against the car, scratching the paint, but he didn’t care. He kicked a tire. It twisted his ankle, pain flaring up his leg. Crying out, he fell against the car, tears squeezing out of his eyes. The hitches were turning into sobs. Before anyone could see him, he picked up the keys, opened the door, and collapsed into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel so hard that his bones hurt, but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

`````  
 _5 days later_

"Hey, Penguin. I need you to ask your friend Gordon for a favor."

Fuck. Oswald knew this had been coming, knew it as soon as he heard that Masi had been arrested for killing some nobody in a bar fight. A couple of the patrons were dumb enough to talk and identify him as the shooter. They had ways of dealing with annoying witnesses, of course, but with Jim and Bullock getting the case and Maroni being so interested in Jim’s connection with Oswald, Oswald had the ugly feeling that Maroni would be seeking a different approach with this case. Which meant that Oswald would have to ask Jim to compromise his principles on behalf of his boss. And Jim would hate him for it. 

Five days had gone by without a word exchanged between them. Five days of worrying and staring at Jim’s number on his cell, wondering if he should send a message, just a little, checking if you’re still alive type of message, but he always chickened out at the last second, because he’d promised himself that he would let Jim make the first move. Only Jim wasn’t doing it.

“You want him to bury the case against Masi,” Oswald said.

“Exactly.”

“I will do my utmost, sir, but, Jim does pride himself on being an honest cop. I fear that he will not be willing to do so.”

“Then you must convince him. Tell him to do it for the sake of your friendship. And remind him that he owes me one.”

"I will do so, sir," Oswald said, hiding his dread.

Was there even still friendship between them?

He stared at Jim number for a moment, that moment stretching out into seconds, and then into a minute before he finally forced himself to press the call button and put the phone up to his ear. It rang, the tone loud in his ear, twice, thrice, then four times. Oswald's heart sank to the pit of his stomach, and he braced himself for the voicemail prompt, wondering how the hell be was going to phrase this when Jim answered.

"Hello."

Two small syllables. An iceberg of uncertainty. Oswald could hear Jim's reluctance to answer his call in that little word. It tore him open that Jim was no longer happy to hear from him.

"Hi, Jim. How have you been?"

"I'm okay. I'm sorry I haven't been in touch."

"I understand. It's okay."

"No, it's not. I just... I have a lot of things to sort out."

"I know. There's no rush. I'm here whenever you want to talk again."

Jim didn't reply right away, seconds dragging in an unpleasant silence.

"Listen," Oswald continued, unable to take the quiet anymore. "Um. I'm actually calling about work."

"Yeah. I thought you would be.”

“Maroni told me to ask you—“

“No.”

“Jim.”

“I know what he wants and the answer is no. I won’t bury this case.”

“What good will prosecuting Masi do, Jim? He’s a small fish. He’s not a seed to take down any piece of Maroni’s organization.”

“It will get a murderer off the streets. That may not factor in your cost analysis, but it does in mine. And if he’s so irrelevant, why does Maroni want him out?”

“He’s a good employee.”

“Like you are.”

Hurt stung in Oswald’s stomach.

“You know the fine line I walk, Jim.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out like that. I just can’t believe you’re asking me to do this. You know better than that.”

“What was I supposed to do? Tell him no, I can’t inconvenience my friend like that? Maroni and Falcone, they know you won’t bend. They don’t like it. You’re a fox in their hen house. They only tolerate you because of me.”

“I know. I appreciate that. Really. But I can’t do this for you. I gotta go.”

And he hung up before Oswald could say anything else. 

````````  
“He said no, huh?” Maroni said when he came by later to check if his request had been fulfilled, which must have been obvious by the trepidation on Oswald’s face that it was not.

“He did. I tried my best to reason with him, Don Maroni, I assure you, but Jim doesn’t like being told what to do. He is very stubborn.”

“So he wouldn’t do it even for you. I got to say, I’m a little surprised. I wonder if you pushed him hard enough.”

“I did, as much as I could, I promise you.”

“Perhaps I can push him a little harder.” 

There was a threatening glint in Maroni’s eye, a maliciousness that boded ill for Jim’s wellbeing. Or rather, for the welfare of someone he cared about. It was the traditional way of putting pressure on a recalcitrant party. Threaten a loved one, make them hurt and promise future pain if they didn’t cooperate. Barbara was the obvious choice. They had broken up, but Jim was still in love with her.

“I could help you with that,” Oswald said. “If Jim believes that you are displeased with me for failing to convince him, that you threatened me, I think he would reconsider.”

“You think he would buy that?”

“If we are convincing. You could rough me up a little. That would trigger his protective instincts. I’ll say that you threatened me after I told you that he said no.”

Maroni considered this.

“And you would be okay with that? Me hitting you?”

“If it will help sell the lie, of course. I know you wouldn’t really mean it.”

“Of course not. You’re my greatest asset.” Maroni wrapped an arm around Oswald’s shoulders, smiling that unctuous grin of his that was about as harmless as Oswald’s. The instinct to recoil sparked in Oswald’s bones, but he forced himself to stand still. “Why would I want to mess up that pretty face of yours? But if it will help crack that white knight armor Gordon always wears, I guess I’ll have to.” 

```````  
Jim threw his water bottle into his locker, the item banging against the metal, making a couple of the cops in the room turn around to look at him. He ignored them, grabbing and pulling on his coat as if it were a shield against the world, against feeling what he had been refusing to acknowledge for days. He missed Oswald. He missed their text conversations, their idle chatter when they hung out at Jim’s place while he recuperated, the food Oswald brought him, such delicious food, food that he now knew represented Oswald’s love for him. His scarf lied in the locker, another token of Oswald’s affection. Jim had considered not wearing it that morning, like he had done every morning for the last five days, knowing that feeling its softness on his skin would be too palpable a reminder of the misery in Oswald’s eyes when he’d last looked at Jim. Of that sudden, crazy urge Jim had had to hold him close and sample just a taste of the love that Oswald offered. 

_I can’t_ , he thought, but a pesky, little voice at the back of his mind countered, _Can’t or won’t?_

Yanking out the scarf, he slammed the locker closed and wrapped it around his neck. It was a scarf. It was windy. He needed a scarf when it was windy. 

He said bye to Harvey on his way out of the station, turning away before he could see too much of that apprehensive look the man had been giving him the whole week. Jim might have been a little cranky lately, a bit disconnected. Between Barbara and Oswald, his mind felt like a twenty car pileup with a monster truck squashing everything flat until he couldn’t distinguish which emotion was which. The morning after Oswald confessed his love for him, when Harvey asked, Jim had said, “You were right,” and refused to say anything more. Harvey had let it go, tactfully changing the subject. Neither of them had mentioned it since.

Then there had been that damn phone call today. As soon as it was revealed that Masi worked for Maroni, Jim had braced himself for his phone to ring. He hadn’t known who it would be, Oswald or Maroni himself, but, of course, Maroni had ordered Oswald to do his dirty work. Had he thought that Jim would cave more easily if the request came from a friendly face, that Jim would do his buddy a favor? He thought wrong. Having Oswald ask something so disgraceful of him when he knew how much it would burn in Jim’s soul to even consider it hurt. His saying no would make Oswald look bad, but he would survive it. He was too high in Maroni’s estimation not to. And surely it had been a safe bet that Jim would refuse to play ball. 

But then he found Oswald sitting by his apartment door, his left eye swollen and red, discoloration creeping around his eye socket. 

“Jim,” Oswald said, looking up at him, and started to stand, but Jim rushed to kneel in front of him, cradling Oswald’s head in his hands as he inspected what was clearly the result of a vicious right hook.

“What happened?” Jim asked. “Who did this to you?”

“I’m fine. It’s okay.”

“You’re not fine.”

Oswald’s skin was already purpling. Rage screamed inside him, needing to inflict bloody retribution for this. 

“Let’s get inside so I can explain,” Oswald said, adding in a lowered voice, “It wouldn’t do for all the neighbors to hear.”

Right. Neighbors. He lifted Oswald up to his feet and escorted him inside, making sure that he was sitting on the couch before he went to get an ice pack from the fridge.

“Was it Maroni?” Jim asked when he got back.

Sitting beside Oswald, he gently placed the pack over Oswald’s eye with his right hand.

“Yes.” Jim’s left hand tightened into a fist on the couch cushions. “But it’s not what you think. Well, it is and it isn’t. Maroni did hit me and he did do so to intimidate you, but I asked him to.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it was either me or someone else. Possibly Barbara. I can’t be sure. He wasn’t pleased when I told him you’d said no. He said that perhaps he could push you a little harder, and there was violence in his voice. Maroni does not take no for an answer. So I volunteered to be the one he threatened to get you to cooperate. I made him think that I would trick you, that I’d tell you that he threatened my life.”

“You sacrificed yourself,” Jim said, perplexed. “For me?”

So no one else Jim cared about would get hurt. 

“Of course.” Oswald smiled, his one, visible eye steady as he looked at Jim. “I would do anything for you, Jim. Anything I can. And I’ve had a lot worse than this, believe me. One punch is not going to faze me.”

Jim didn’t know what to say. Oswald’s voice, the look in his eye, they were so honest, so affectionate. The little finger of Jim’s right hand strayed off the ice pack onto Oswald’s skin, touching it for a second before he recalled it. Oswald’s face was cold from the ice. Jim took off the pack before it damaged Oswald’s skin. 

“I keep needing to thank you,” he said.

“You don’t need to. I do it willingly.”

“You shouldn’t have to get hurt because of me. What will Maroni do if I don’t comply? Will he hurt you on purpose this time?”

“I will have failed him twice. Hardly a feather in my cap. It was pretty easy to convince him to go along with this ruse. So easy it was almost insulting. I was a little too open in my search for your attacker two weeks ago. He knows that I hold great affection for you. And I have betrayed my boss with the GCPD before. If he suspects that I owe greater loyalty to you than to him, he will seek to exploit it. He will use you against me like he seeks to use me against you."

And here it was. The time had finally come when Jim would compromise himself for this man.

"So I don't have a choice," Jim said. "It's the integrity of my case versus your safety."

"I wouldn't put it precisely like that."

"That's precisely what it is."

He dropped back against the couch, his limbs feeling as heavy as they did after he was attacked. He rubbed his hand over his face, fingers kneading down over the left side, where Oswald’s flesh was purpling, bleeding right under the skin from a punch he felt he had to receive for Jim’s sake. It was like being back at that table, the black bag pulled off his head to find a grinning Maroni sitting before him promising to put a bullet in his and Oswald’s skulls if Jim didn’t play along. At least that time Maroni was asking for the truth. Now, he demanded a lie.

“Why is it always bloody between us?” Jim asked, thinking out loud.

“That’s Gotham.”

Two simple words. That’s Gotham. Those are the rules. That’s how it works. You either bend or get broken. What everyone kept shoving in his face. What he swore did not have to be the only way because he could not face himself in the mirror if he became that which he had always fought against.

“I’m really sorry about all this, Jim. I’ve only ever wanted to help you, not hinder you.”

Jim turned to him. Oswald’s bottom lip was torn on the left side, a small cut. It had already scabbed over. He found himself staring at it, wishing that he could mend it with his mind like in a superhero comic, that he could touch the swollen flesh around his left eye and repair the broken blood vessels lying underneath his handsome face. That he had just said yes to Oswald the first time so this wouldn’t have happened. That he could go to Maroni right now and punch him in the face for every hit that he had ever inflicted upon Oswald since the day they had met. 

When Maroni’s men had dragged Jim to the restaurant, Oswald’s face had been covered in blood, his tie and collar undone, trembling with fear, and though he had barely been more than a nuisance to Jim at the time, it mattered now. It all mattered now. Oswald’s pleading for Jim not to kill him, his quiet “thank you” when Jim told the truth to Maroni, his asking Falcone not to kill Jim, the meeting at the park, the scarf, the dead attacker, the meat pies, it all mattered. Everything that Oswald had ever done for him mattered. They were all Oswald. The Oswald that he let Jim see, yes, but it did not stop being Oswald. The man who beat that thief behind Fish Mooney’s club did not cease to be the same man as the one who made him pancakes and bacon for dinner last week. This man was as deadly as a viper, yet, before Jim, he was vulnerable. Jim could break him simply by rejecting him. He already had, both emotionally and physically. The rules changed when he sought to keep a gangster safe rather than put him behind bars. 

Oswald was too important to him to sacrifice. Not even for a case and God, he could not believe he was considering throwing out his own case, but he could not allow Oswald to jeopardize himself for his sake. And what could Masi gain them, anyway? He wasn’t talking. His lawyer, paid by Maroni, wouldn’t allow anything close to a deal to happen. He was interfering with the investigation so much that Masi might not even go to trial, especially with a DA’s office that was dragging its feet about prosecuting one of Maroni’s guys since he and Falcone were now at peace. Jim was doing the right thing, but would it be worth it? 

No. Not if it risked Oswald. He had become essential to Jim’s life in such a short time, since Jim had finally put his guard down and let Oswald in. 

Jim placed his hand on Oswald’s right shoulder, squeezing lightly, reassuring himself as much as Oswald when he said,

“I’ll do it.”

Oswald’s eyes widened.

“You will? Are you sure?”

“If it will keep you safe, yes I am.”

His hand slid across Oswald’s back, pulling him tight against him, an impulsive move. Oswald complied happily, carefully resting his head on Jim’s chest. This did not feel so bad.

“Thank you,” Oswald said, his breath hot on Jim’s shirt.

His hair brushed against Jim’s chin. Slowly, fearing he might regret it at any moment, Jim lowered his head, breathing in the sharp scent of hair product. He rested his lips on Oswald’s scalp, not sure if he would call it a kiss, stomach fluttering, his hand rubbing unconsciously down Oswald’s arm.

Not so bad at all.


End file.
